


Edges

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Cooking, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Fuck you.' Giriko’s short-lived peace is lost, vanished in the midst of the cross-room conversation, but he’s grinning without realizing, head tipped to better catch Justin’s words while his stirring of the pasta goes out-of-rhythm and thoughtless. 'Keep talking and I’ll come out there and shut you up.'" Justin distracts Giriko and Giriko fails to stay mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edges

Giriko isn’t even  _thinking_  about sex, for once. He’s focused on the task in front of him entirely, although cooking pasta doesn’t involve much concentration. There’s a soothing blankness to be obtained from watching the water boil around the pale shapes of the noodles, something almost like sleep and a little bit meditative, and while he would rather die than admit this aloud denial doesn’t make it less true. So he’s watching the water, breathing in the steam rather than moving back from the stove, and when Justin calls from the other room it takes him a minute to come back into a more typical mental state.

“ _Giriko_.” Justin sounds a little strained, his voice hitting the edge of shrillness from the combination of volume and what is probably hunger. “Is that almost done?”

“Shut up,” Giriko yells back without moving. “Unless you want to come in here and feed yourself, you’re gonna have to learn some fucking patience.”

There’s a breath of a pause. “Are  _you_  lecturing  _me_  on the benefits of patience?”

“Stop acting like a  _toddler_  and I’ll stop,” Giriko shoots back with what he feels is impressive rationality. “At least I’m  _cooking_  for you.”

“Hurry up,” Justin yells. “Cook  _faster_.”

“Fuck you.” Giriko’s short-lived peace is lost, vanished in the midst of the cross-room conversation, but he’s grinning without realizing, head tipped to better catch Justin’s words while his stirring of the pasta goes out-of-rhythm and thoughtless. “Keep talking and I’ll come out there and shut you up.”

“What do you have in mind?” That’s less shrill, there’s less strain in it, and when Giriko catches movement at the corner of his eye he’s not surprised when he glances back to find Justin leaning against the entry into the kitchen. But he’s busy, he has to hover over the food or let it burn, so he just lets his grin go sharp at the edge, stays where he is when he raises an eyebrow and says, “Depends on whether you’re in a biting mood or not.”

“Mmm.” Justin shuffles forward, close enough that he can lean against Giriko’s back and breathe out against the back of the older man’s shirt. “What if I’m feeling obedient?”

That’s what does it, the words tied together with the suggestive purr in the blond’s throat, as much of an offer as the motion of Justin’s mouth against the back of the chainsaw’s throat. Giriko takes a breath, and starts to laugh, a low grating burst of amusement as his blood goes hot with interest and food drops significantly on his list of priorities.

“You’re never obedient,” he says, but when he reaches up over his shoulder Justin doesn’t move away, lets Giriko close his fingers on a handful of his hair and tug an edge of pain into his scalp. “But you could prove it to me on your knees. Give you something to do with your mouth other than be a little brat.”

“You have my attention,” Justin’s voice shivers over Giriko’s skin, ticklish and as warm as the steam against the chainsaw’s face. “Do I have yours?” His hands are brushing against Giriko’s waist, lighter than the older man usually prefers to be touched but interesting in the present context, particularly when his arm comes entirely around and the teasing-light touch drops down an inch over Giriko’s stomach.

“Thought you wanted me to cook,” Giriko points out. It would be easy to push away Justin’s touch; the blond is making no effort to maintain a solid hold, Giriko could  _step_  away and be free if he wanted. But he doesn’t want to, and there’s no hesitation in the careful downward slide of Justin’s fingers over his shirt to the top edge of the other man’s jeans.

“I do,” Justin says, slow and considering. “I just also want you to fuck me over the couch.”

Giriko’s eyebrows jump, his throat tightens into a shocked laugh, and Justin’s touch comes in harder, presses against his shirt and pushes it up an inch so the blond’s fingertips drag over the chainsaw’s stomach directly. Giriko’s still looking for words, waiting for coherency to return to his thoughts as his brain entirely shifts focus, when Justin says, “Don’t forget the pasta.”

“Fuck,” Giriko growls, and stirs so hard water splashes over onto the burner, as if aggression will make up for the minute of distraction. “You’re such a little shit.”

“You’re just too easy to tease.” Giriko can  _hear_  the laugh in Justin’s throat, purring just under the surface of his words. “This isn’t even very challenging. I could manage  _stirring pasta_  while you blew me, if I had to.”

That makes Giriko laugh, loud and sincere. “Bullshit. You can’t do  _anything_  when I suck you off, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ve been working on my resistance.” Justin’s arms are entirely around Giriko’s chest, his fingers working their way up under the other man’s shirt while he leans in to press against the chainsaw’s back like he’s relying on the physical support. “Hadn’t you noticed?”

“I dunno.” Giriko is staring at the pasta but not seeing them at all; his attention is entirely against the shove of Justin’s fingers on his skin, the way the blond’s hips are grinding against his as if by instinct more than deliberation. “Hard to distinguish your composure around the begging and gasping.”

“You should pay more attention.” Justin is actively rocking against Giriko now, his breathing is starting to come faster into the chainsaw’s shoulder. “There are subtleties that I am sure go over your head.”

“You don’t seem to mind the straightforward approach usually,” Giriko points out. “I ain’t the guy for subtlety, you should know that by now.”

“Yeah, I got that impression sometime around the point you shoved me down into the couch the first time you fucked me,” Justin says, but he sounds amused and Giriko can feel how hard he is from the angle of the blond’s body against his back. “I’m not complaining about  _that_ , I’m complaining about you ignoring me.”

“I’m trying to  _cook_  for you,” Giriko growls. “I can let this go and jerk you off against the counter, if you need it that bad.”

Justin sniffs. “That’s hardly sanitary.”

“I dunno.” Giriko reaches to turn the burner off. “Grinding yourself against me while I’m cooking ain’t real appropriate either, is it?”

“Mm.” Justin bites gently against the back of Giriko’s neck, more the promising scrape of teeth than actual pain. “Is that done?”

Giriko shoves back from the stove, hard enough that Justin would fall if he weren’t clinging so tightly to Giriko’s chest, and reaches for the handle of the pot. “Go get the fucking lube.”

Justin is gone almost before Giriko has spoken, unwinding his arms and sliding away so he’s out of sight even before the chainsaw has turned to drain the pasta over the sink. It’s a quick process, at least, and with the water gone the food can be safely left to cool somewhat while Giriko abandons the pot in the empty sink and comes around the corner to the main hallway. It’s not like he’s planning to take long, anyway.

“Where the hell are you?” he’s calling as he comes out of the kitchen, without even waiting to see if Justin is in sight. “You got me distracted, come the fuck out here so I can take advantage of that.”

“Working on it.” Justin sounds shrill again, slightly irritated at Giriko’s demands, but he’s coming out of the bedroom before Giriko even thinks to move down the hallway, and he has the bottle in his hands. When Giriko holds his hands out in offer Justin tosses it to him, and by the time the blond has made it down the hallway he’s pulling his shirt off and Giriko has the bottle open and his fingers half-slick in expectation.

He still asks, though, to tease Justin if nothing else. “You sure you don’t want to do this yourself? You look real pretty finger-fucking yourself, you know.”

“I know you like to watch me,” Justin says, but he shakes his head when Giriko half-jokingly offers the bottle to him. “But  _I_  like it better this way, your hands are bigger than mine.”

Giriko growls around a laugh, reaches out for the bare skin of Justin’s waist to smear his slippery fingers against the blond while Justin pulls his jeans open. The priest lets Giriko tug him in closer, steps forward without a word of protest so Giriko can gust an exhale over his hair, purr, “You like to feel my fingers inside you, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Justin says, with no trace of the self-conscious flush he would once have demonstrated at this bluntness. “They’re almost as good as your cock.”

It’s not that he’s saying anything particularly extraordinary; it’s more that Justin is rarely so direct, usually takes the innuendoes and leaves the direct propositions to Giriko, and the sentence delivered in the flat calmness of his voice sends a rush of heat through the chainsaw just from the novelty of the sound.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he finally says, just for the satisfaction of the sound on his tongue, and shoves hard against Justin’s hip. “Turn  _around_.”

Justin obeys instantly, twisting around towards the couch as he gets his jeans open and shoved down off his hips. Giriko reaches out to steady the blond, hold him in place via a hand at his waist, but his grip slips in the lube he’s left over Justin’s stomach and he can’t get a hold. It doesn’t much matter, though, Justin is bracing himself against the back of the couch and rocking back, all but whimpering for Giriko to touch him, so he probably doesn’t need much support anyway. Giriko steps in anyway, close enough that he can shove in against Justin’s leg himself, and Justin is just starting to purr approval when Giriko touches him, starts to slide his fingers into the blond and force Justin’s response accordingly lower in his throat.

“Do you just like distracting me?” he asks, trusting to the support of his body to hold Justin more or less in place while he reaches around to close his fingers around the blond’s length. Justin’s head drops down, like it’s become too heavy for him to hold upright, and he huffs an exhale that isn’t really a response as Giriko strokes over him once. “I was right in the middle of dinner.”

“It’s more fun,” Justin admits, the words drawn odd from the curve of his neck and the angle of his head. Giriko eyes the clean lines of his back, the shift of lean muscle over the blond’s shoulders as he holds himself steady against the slow thrust of the older man’s fingers into him. “I wanted to see if I could get you to actually let it burn.”

That makes Giriko laugh, push in against Justin hard enough that the blond rocks forward over the couch and nearly falls, though he doesn’t voice a protest beyond a shocked exhale. “Responsibility got the better of me. Guess you smoothed some of my rough edges off.”

“Soon I’ll get you on a leash,” Justin says, the pretended innocence clear in his voice even under the breathless quality it’s taken on. Giriko hisses in irritation, shoves his fingers in as hard and fast as he can, and this time Justin really does fall, slides down against the edge of the couch although it doesn’t do more than break up the pattern of his laughter.

“Fuck you,” Giriko growls. He’s half-expecting Justin’s response, the gasped “ _Please_ ” even before the blond has gotten his feet back under him. Giriko lets him go, slides his fingers free and steps back so he can undo the fly of his jeans while Justin kicks his own free and turns back around to watch Giriko shove his clothes open, looking flushed and half-fucked already.

Giriko tries to come back as soon as the denim is ostensibly open, enough out of the way that he probably won’t hurt himself on the zipper, but Justin meets him halfway and the blond’s hands are  _everywhere_ , pushing up at the edge of his shirt and down at the top of his pants, and when his lips brush against Giriko’s earrings and he sighs, “Take them  _off_ ,” Giriko doesn’t have a good enough reason to protest. He lets Justin push his shirt up, kicks his boots off so he can struggle free of his jeans, and he’s back sooner than he expected, backing Justin up against the couch while the blond shifts to rest his weight against the furniture and hook a leg up around Giriko’s hip.

“Better,” he says, and Giriko can  _see_  the flush rise in his cheeks as the blond’s gaze slides down over his skin. “Much better.”

“You got a problem with my clothes?” Giriko asks, hooking his arm under Justin’s leg so he can drag the blond in closer against him while he lines himself up.

“Only when you’re wearing them.” That sounds harmless enough, Giriko is just starting to grin at the comment, and then Justin goes on: “They give you the wrong idea. You’ll start thinking you’re not my  _pet_.”

Giriko growls, low and threatening, and thrusts up hard, without any of the care he can sometimes be persuaded to exhibit. Justin flinches, his face twists in almost-pain, but the sound he makes is nothing like hurt and has no impact on Giriko’s intentions.

‘’I’m not your  _fucking_  pet,” he hisses before a different tack occurs to him. “Wait. Is that what you’re into? Is that why you brought me home?” He closes his fingers on Justin’s hip, drags the blond down farther so the priest gasps and shuts his eyes against the flush of sensation. “So you could have a big cock on-call to fuck your ass whenever you wanted?”

Justin huffs a weak laugh without opening his eyes. “I see I haven’t succeeded in smoothing out your language.” He’s panting, Giriko can see his cheeks flushing pink and damp with sweat already even before the chainsaw pushes the blond’s leg up a little higher and pulls back to thrust forward again in one smooth stroke. That makes Justin hiss, gasp a quick inhale, and when he goes on his voice is a little higher than usual, his words come a little faster. “That wasn’t my original intention.” He reaches out to steady himself on Giriko’s shoulder with one hand and closes his other around himself, so slow Giriko can tell he’s teasing himself just from looking. “Though I’m not  _complaining_.”

“Oh good.” Giriko sounds a little shaky himself, though that might be from the grin he can’t keep from his face. “I’d hate to have you  _unsatisfied_.” He’s quicker with the next thrust, his movements sharp and hard enough that Justin rocks back and has to catch himself against the chainsaw’s neck. It’s worth it for the way he can feel Justin tense around him, the way the priest’s mouth drops open around his groan of response. “Seeing as I’m only here for your pleasure, huh?”

Justin starts to speak but the first edge of his words dissolve into another hissed moan before he can form his mouth around coherency. “ _Ah_. Like you’re -- not enjoying yourself.”

Giriko laughs, leans in so he can feel Justin’s breathing coming too-fast against his mouth. “I  _am_.” It’s harder to balance when he’s not holding Justin upright, but it’s worth it for tremor that runs through the blond when he lets Justin’s hip go in favor of replacing Justin’s feathery touches on himself with the grip of the chainsaw’s fingers.

“Oh fuck,” Justin blurts, and lets go entirely, reaches up so he has both arms around Giriko’s neck. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna  _stop_ ,” Giriko growls, more irritated by the implication that he  _might_  than the understated order in Justin’s voice. “I thought you  _knew_  me better than that.”

“Ah.” Justin turns his head up, drags his open mouth across Giriko’s lips in a vague approximation of a kiss. Giriko can feel the catch in his throat when the chainsaw strokes his hand up over the blond’s length, the whimper far back on Justin’s tongue when he rocks up into the priest. “I suppose I do.”

Giriko purrs agreement, tightens his hold on Justin’s leg to keep the blond as steady as possible while he picks up his pace. The motion of his hips is out-of-sync with his hand, he keeps losing track of what he’s doing and forgetting to jerk Justin off with any rhythm, but from the way the blond’s cheeks are flushed and how hard he’s panting for air, Giriko’s doing a good enough job between the movement of his cock and his hand to push the blond towards the edge. He can see it coming, can feel the way Justin’s hands draw tight and desperate against his neck and the tension arching his foot even before the blond presses his forehead into Giriko’s shoulder and groans.

“Fuck,” and he sounds broken, breathless and overheated and shaking with tight-wound tension. “Giriko, fuck, I’m --”

“Yeah,” Giriko says, and it’s partly acknowledgment and partly encouragement, and when he draws his hand up fast over the blond’s length Justin wails against his skin, and all the tension in him collapses into shivering pleasure against the chainsaw’s body. Giriko keeps his hold on the other steady while Justin gasps against his shoulder; he doesn’t need the extra leverage, anyway, not with Justin’s leg up at this angle and not with his own orgasm so close. It’s only another few thrusts, long smooth strokes that make Justin jerk and moan with the last ripples of sensation, and then Giriko’s coming too, pleasure shocking under his skin and coursing through his blood until his hold on Justin goes gentle, the grip fading into a caress, and when he regains control over his mouth he’s got his lips pressed against Justin’s hair like a kiss.

Neither of them moves for a moment; Giriko sighs against Justin’s hair, and Justin takes a deep breath into Giriko’s shoulder, and then the chainsaw lets Justin’s leg go and the priest shifts his weight so he’s better balanced and not relying on his hold on Giriko’s shoulders to stay upright. Giriko’s just letting Justin go, turning away and starting to think about recovering his clothes from the floor, when the blond takes a deep breath, and tips his head back in an impressive display of haughtiness, given his current lack of clothing.

“Are you going to finish cooking dinner?”

Giriko pauses mid-thought, irritation flooding into him as he turns back to glower at the blond. But as he turns back around he sees the flicker of teasing in Justin’s eyes, the sparkle of amusement in the clear blue, and when Justin grins Giriko starts to laugh before he realizes he’s not really angry after all.


End file.
